On the Flipside
by A Crownless Queen
Summary: There was nothing strange or, spirits forbid, weird about him. He was a simple monk who wanted only simple things. Still, he could never quite fit in with the rest of the monks. And that scared Aang, because he didn't want to be anything but air. (What if the monks didn't tell Aang he was the Avatar?)


**On the Flipside**

 **Summary** : There was nothing strange or, spirits forbid, weird about him. He was a simple monk who wanted only simple things. Still, he could never quite fit in with the rest of the monks. And that scared Aang, because he didn't want to be anything but air.

* * *

Aang pretended he was normal.

He was a prodigy at Airbending, and while that was a little odd, it was not unheard of – There had been an airbender a century ago who had gotten her arrows when she was eleven. Twelve was not unheard of. So no, there was nothing strange or, spirits forbid, _weird_ about him. He was a simple monk who only wanted simple things – Friends, laughter, and a warm place to rest.

Still, he could never _quite_ fit in with the rest of the monks. While they listened to their elders and did what they were ordered to do without thinking, a part of Aang always tried to find an explanation, a _reason,_ and sometimes he asked. Each time he would ask, the elders would _look_ at him in a way that he couldn't really explain. It was like they were judging him, or examining him, or staring into his soul and seeing something that wasn't… _air._

And that scared him, because he didn't _want_ to be anything _but_ air. He didn't want to be different. He just wanted to be _Aang._ But Aang wasn't air, not entirely, and he didn't know what it was that wasn't air so that he could pretend it wasn't there before it just kept slipping out and he _hated_ that and hated himself at times –

So he stifled those parts of himself, as best as he could, and yet… they kept slipping through his fingers like sand. Little fragments, here and there.

But, Spirits, he had pretended, and he pretended, and would keep on pretending. Because the ones who _were_ different disappeared… and he didn't want to disappear, to wherever the elders sent them. So he put on a smile and watched his every step.

* * *

"I wonder what it's like out there," Aang would tell Kuzon once, when he was sure nobody was listening or watching. When he allowed himself a moment to be something more than air. "The elders say that there's a civil war going on in the Fire Nation." And Gyasto wants to protect him – to keep him safe in these temple walls that close in on him and make him feel like he's _drowning._

"There is," Kuzon had replied, voice careful. "There hasn't been an Avatar in over a decade. The Fire Lord thinks the Air Nomads are next in the cycle and Avatar Roku almost killed him years ago. Apparently."

"Unlucky kid," Aang said, heart reaching out for whatever poor soul would be cursed with the spirit of the whole world. He pitied him, or her, and didn't envy him one bit. Who would, when you had the weight of the world on your shoulders? All that power could drive someone insane.

"We'll all know in two years anyway," his friend told him, looking out at the setting sun. "I feel sorry for whoever ends up with that curse. Really, really sorry."

* * *

Aang loved watching the rainstorms. While all the other monks and kids treated into the temple, grumbling about how the rain kept them from flying, something inside of him seemed to settle as he listened to the way it pounded against the sheer cliffs.

"How do you look so serene when it's pouring like that?" Zephyr asked constantly, whenever the skies split open and he had to come inside. He would walk up to him and he would flinch at the roar of the thunder.

"It sounds nice," he offered, because saying _something about it draws me in_ would be not air, and anything not air disappeared. If he could, he would run through it, and _dance._ He would shout at the sky. But that was _definitely_ not air. Zephyr would shake his head and walk away, saying something about Gyasto and his craziness rubbing off on him.

And Aang hoped it was just that, because the alternative, of being different, was too scary to consider.

* * *

Aang always woke with the sun, far earlier than most of the monks, who preferred to sleep until the sun was high in the sky. At first, Gyasto had been worried that he didn't get enough sleep, but Aang literally woke up with the sun. It did not matter if he stayed up into the wee hours of the morning – He always awakened.

And when the moon was full, it was even worse, because it was hard for him to sleep then too.

"There's something wrong with me," he had told him once, when he was thirteen, and Gyasto had found him scared and close to crying. He'd looked into his teacher's sad eyes and pulled his legs close to himself. "Isn't there? I can't sleep when the moon is full and I can't sleep when the sun is up and, and the elders are going to kill me because I'm _not like air_ –"

Gyasto had hugged him so hard he could barely breathe. Or maybe that had just been the heavy feeling in his chest. And Aang had hugged him back as hard as he could.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay, Aang. The elders won't kill you. Why would you think that?"

He didn't know why he thought that, but he _knew._ He just knew. And that wasn't right either, because killing was _evil and wrong_ but something inside of him told him that something with the elders wasn't _right_ and he didn't know why.

"I don't know. Promise me you won't let them take me?"

"Promise," Gyasto swore solemnly, with sad eyes, and Aang thought that he might know what was wrong with him.

But he didn't ask.

* * *

Most monks didn't like bathing because it disconnected them from their element too long, but Aang … he wanted to do nothing but stay in the water for hours on end. It always made him feel like he could take on anything, just like the sun warmed him and the cliffs he sometimes climbed _without_ his glider or airbending always felt … _there._

But he wasn't different, he couldn't be different – He would get hurt if he was different. The elders would know –

So he stayed in the still water for only a few minutes.

Sometimes, he wondered what the ocean looked like.

Mostly, he just wished he could see Kuzon's people or see Bumi again – It had been almost four years since he'd seen Bumi last. But it was too dangerous to travel now, because the fire nation would _kill you –_

Air was supposed to be freedom, wasn't it? So why did he feel so very not feel?

Why did it feel like the elders were trying to cage them in?

* * *

"Stay strong, Aang," Gyasto said, the night he disappeared. Aang looked into his eyes, and he saw everything that was the opposite of not being attached. "Promise me you won't let the elders take away your kindness."

"I-I promise?" He was scared and confused by the intensity in his teacher's gaze. The _light_ in his gray eyes. But he still promised, because Gyasto never asked him to promise anything unless it was important.

* * *

Attachment was wrong, the elders and the monks preached to them all the time. It was evil, because they were air and air was free. Love was attachment, and that was wrong. That was why they never knew their parents, and why they never could – Because love was evil, because it was attachment, and that could steal their freedom. Just like they couldn't be tethered to the earth. Just like they couldn't love the air.

They couldn't have emotions, because emotions were attachments. Joy? It came from love, and that was wrong. Anger? It came from hate, and that was wrong. If someone tried to kill them, they had to let them because _you were attached to your own life._

And if you tried to kill someone, that was evil, because all life was sacred.

But that didn't make sense, because if life was sacred, then wouldn't _his own be sacred too?_ Why would he not raise a finger to protect himself when someone was trying to kill him?

Because that was attachment.

And it didn't make any sense.

But he didn't question, because questioning was different and he _wasn't different._

(It felt more and more like a lie.)

* * *

One moment, there was a spirit there – and it had been about to hurt one of the kids Aang had been teaching. Teaching because Gyasto wasn't there anymore and _somebody_ needed to replace him and Aang _hated_ that the elders thought Gyasto was replaceable and hated it even more that he was hating when hating was wrong because it was attachment and attachment wasn't _air._

But … he wasn't sure being air was right. Not anymore. Not after they _took Gyasto –_

Gyasto was gone, and they were the cause of it.

 _He didn't want to be a part of that._

He didn't want to be like them.

He wouldn't.

Which meant he wasn't going to be air. Not anymore. Not if it meant this. Not if a kid was going to get killed because _attachment was evil and wrong and –_

How could he have ever thought he could be detached to life forever?

"Stop!" he had roared at the spirit, not thinking, as he leapt between the child and it. And that was attachment, that wasn't air, _but he couldn't let this creature hurt his people –_ A foreign power in him, and there were a thousand voices in his head, telling him what to do. How to save a life. " ** _I command you to halt!_** "

And it did.

* * *

 _We'll all know in two years,_ Kuzon had told him.

At sixteen, Aang had slipped into the Avatar State to save a child's life from a spirit –

and sealed his fate.

* * *

The silence had been deafening in the aftermath. All eyes had turned toward him, and he felt their stunned gazes as clearly as he had heard those voices.

 _I'm the Avatar. There is no other way that could have been possible._

The ground was yanked from underneath his feet.

* * *

(He had lied. He was different after all.)

(He had _never_ been just air.)

* * *

 **Author's Note** : … Please tell me somebody else has explored this idea, because this literally just popped into my head while I was working on 30K+ "oneshot" for this fandom in which Aang accidentally destroys the spirit world by finding a bunch of air nomads and… Well. You'll see. ;)


End file.
